


It Is Most Definitely Happening Again

by JakeWasHere



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Continuation, Gen, One-Shot, This Is As Far As We Go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JakeWasHere/pseuds/JakeWasHere
Summary: A few more minutes of screen time. An exploration in the wake of The Return.





	It Is Most Definitely Happening Again

The emergency room of Calhoun Memorial Hospital was, mercifully, not an excessively busy place even at its worst moments. 9:55 PM on a Tuesday night was not one of those moments; in fact, except for the admissions clerk and a registered nurse who was busy watching the clock, the place was deserted. The faint footsteps of a doctor down the hallway, and a low murmur from the television tuned to the Food Network in one corner, kept the silence from being complete.

Henry Warwick, RN, sighed heavily as the clock's readout clicked over to 9:56. "Still a quiet night," he observed. "What do you think, Liz? What odds would you give we get a live one before I go off shift?"

"I wouldn't call it impossible," shrugged the clerk. "A town the size of Twin Peaks? There's always time for one more disaster."

Warwick winced as a car screeched to a stop in the parking lot outside. "Glad I'm not a betting man," he said, glimpsing a pair of figures stumbling toward the sliding doors.

The doors hissed open, and a man and a woman entered — or rather, a man in a black suit entered carrying a woman. She leaned limply against his left shoulder, his left arm running around her back and under her arms for support; her legs were clearly not carrying their own weight. The man staggered and said, in a loud voice: "Please, can someone give me a hand here? She's collapsed!"

Warwick rushed to fetch a rolling stretcher; Liz leapt out from behind the clerk's desk and rushed to help the man support the woman. Her eyes fell on the woman, noting her age (early middle aged at most) and appearance (dirty-blonde hair, suede jacket, eyes limply shut), before turning to the man. He was harder to place; the lines in his face suggested age, but his immaculately combed hair was jet-black without a trace of gray. "What's wrong with her?" she asked him.

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me," he replied, his voice clipped and professional. "She let out a scream and dropped to the ground — I was barely in time to catch her — and since I didn't know what was happening to her, I thought it best to get her to medical attention."

_(He did not tell her about the way the woman's scream had coincided with a sudden power surge that had shorted every light on the entire block. He had nothing but guesses to go on, and for the first time in his life he was realizing what a tentative, fragile, and untrustworthy thing a mere guess was.)_

"Does she have any ID on her?"

"I left it in the car with the rest of her things; I'll bring it in as soon as possible. Her name seems to be Page, Carrie Page." The man turned to help Nurse Warwick lift Carrie Page onto the stretcher, then began glancing around as if searching for something missing; his eyes fell on something, and he suddenly froze. Following his gaze, Liz's attention was directed toward the digital clock on the wall: _9:57 PM MAR 10 2017_. "Well, that's one question answered," he muttered under his breath.

"Sir?"

"May I accompany you into the back, or should I remain in the waiting room?"

"If you can wait here until we've checked her over, we'll appreciate it," said Warwick. "Once we move her to a proper bed, we'll take you to her."

"I see," said the man. "One more thing." He felt around in his pockets, produced a thin black leather wallet, and showed its contents to Liz and Warwick. "I'm an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This woman may be a person of interest in an ongoing case; I'd like your full cooperation in this matter. Her safety is... of great importance to me."

Warwick, his eyes still fixed on the badge and ID, nodded. "Of course, Agent Horne. Anything you say. I'll speak to the doctor about it." He began to wheel Carrie away down the hall.

As Liz returned to her desk, picked up the phone, and paged a Doctor Felton to Emergency, the man stood stock-still in the middle of the floor. Slowly, the back of his neck beginning to prickle, he turned the wallet over and looked at it himself. It was still the same picture on his FBI identity card, though now twenty-five or more years out of date, but the words were not quite what he had expected:

**FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION**  
**Special Agent**  
**HORNE, Richard Dale**

"Well now," he said to himself, not sure precisely what to say. "That's... curious."

 

* * *

 

"?does he knoW"

".not now ,but sooN .this place has many exitS"

".and many entranceS"

".and one man in his time plays many partS"

"?but shE"

".she does not know ,but she understandS"

".she does ,or she wilL"

".yeS .always ,it must be done agaiN"

".world without end ,ameN"

"!hallelujaH"

_Brief silence. Shadow passes behind curtain. Green Formica table, pewter plate. Plate full._

".we live on this poisoN"

".we shall not starvE"


End file.
